The Solo Jobs
by Joella
Summary: Scatter for six months" was what Nate told them to do after the First David Job went bad. So what did Eliot Spencer do during that time?
1. Chapter 1

The Solo Job(s)

_A/N: Leverage is owned by TNT; I'm just writing in their world with their characters. __These are my theories about what Eliot Spencer did for those three months after __The First David Job_. _ This is my first foray into the world of Leverage as a writer._

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He only had himself to blame. You would think he knew himself better by now. He always did something monumentally dangerous after being betrayed. It was as if he wanted to prove to himself that he was worth something.

The first lesson in betrayal had sent him to juvenile and started him down his career path as a retrieval specialist. The second lesson had been when he found out about Aimee's marriage. That had sent him to Croatia. This third lesson hadn't cut quite so deep, but he had taken a job he wasn't ready for.

Leaning against the wall and peering around the corner, Eliot Spencer realized he'd made a rookie mistake. He had accepted a job that had been offered to him several months ago that he'd refused on the grounds that he already had a job. And he had had one. _Then._ Leverage Consulting and Associates. But then Sophie had let her avarice get the best of her and conned them all. Nate told them to scatter for six months to let things cool down and get the heat off their backs. So he left and had been at a loss of what to do for about a week when he decided to accept this job. His choice. His decision. His mistake.

Eliot tried to take a deep breath and couldn't. Those ribs that Mr. Quinn had broken had barely begun to heal and now it seemed that they were broken again. Looking behind him, he tried to see if he was leaving a bloodtrail. It didn't seem so. If it wouldn't be so painful, he wanted to pound his head against the wall. But with his current fortune, he'd probably aggravate the concussion Quinn had given him as well. Thinking back, he tried to figure where he'd gone wrong.

The job had seemed simple. Get into the house, break into the private collection, retrieve the jeweled pendant, and get out. Now, since this was a private collection, the guards were not your donut-chewing, coffee-slurping watchdogs. No. These were goons with guns. Big guns and bigger knives. And they knew how to use them.

It had gone well at first. Eliot had made it all the way in and snagged the necklace. It was during his exit that things had turned sideways. He had eased around the corner right into a group of three guards. It had been a split second standoff before the fight began. All four men were involved…then three…then two. While Eliot was whaling on the second guard, he was rocked back by a blow to his left bicep. Since he'd just shifted his stance to better pound the man, what should have been a heart shot had only left three inches of blade in his arm instead. Eliot returned the favor with interest. That was one guard who would _never _hunt him down. Ever.

Stopping only to shove the bodies to one side, Eliot had continued towards the perimeter wall. He felt the blood dripping down inside his sleeve. It was irritating but the flow was not fast enough or heavy enough to indicate that the artery had been severed or slow him down much.

And that brought him to now.

A last bit of scouting before trying to go over the perimeter wall. He'd already marked his spot; he was just checking to see if the downed guards had been discovered. Eliot wasn't concerned about the other two waking up and telling about him yet. Those he knocked out tended to stay knocked out. It was safest for him that way. Looking at his watch, Eliot waited for the second hand to make two more sweeps. If his observations were correct, he now had 37 seconds to make it from his current position to up and over the wall.

He made it with two seconds to spare. Grabbing his duffle from behind the bush, Eliot jogged under the cover of the trees down the road to where he'd left the bike.

Eliot judged he was safe when he'd made it out of the hills and into downtown where he had a motel room. His plane didn't leave until late that afternoon, and he needed to clean things up. He parked and got off the bike with a wince. With the adrenaline leaving his system, it was going to be hard to stay focused and alert. He was sure the necklace's owner had more goons, but he knew they hadn't been following him.

Turning on the bathroom light, Eliot eased off his jacket to see the damage. Not too torn up but it definitely needed stitches. And he didn't have a suture kit with him. Another stupid mistake he would never had made a year ago. Sighing, he dug through his bag until he found what he wanted. This was going to hurt. Ripping off a strip of duct tape and attaching it to a wall, Eliot maneuvered his arm under the faucet in the sink trying to rinse off all the blood and clean out the wound. He didn't realize he was growling with frustration and pain. Drying off his arm, Eliot grabbed the duct tape and used it to seal the wound shut. It would hold long enough for him to get home and take care of it properly. At least this way there would be no chance of blood leaking as it might if he'd just stitched it up. Cleaning up the gory sink, Eliot went back into the bedroom to make a call.

"I've got it," his harsh voice informed his client. "I'll meet your man at DAI tomorrow. Terminal A in the food court. I get my money then." Eliot listened as the client blustered but finally acquiesced. After all, he wanted that necklace. Flipping his cell phone closed, Eliot was grateful for idiotic husbands who lavished gifts on other women and then got found out. Of course, he didn't think the woman's husband knew where she'd gotten the necklace but that wasn't his problem.

Slowly collapsing back onto the bed, Eliot went over the job in his mind to figure out where he'd gone wrong. It didn't take too much introspection to realize what had been going on in his head. He had expected to be warned about those guards. To hear Hardison or Parker or Nate telling him they were on the move. He'd learned to depend on them. Eliot Spencer. The man who had learned early on in life and repeatedly since then that you could trust no one but yourself. And then he'd betrayed himself by falling into dangerous habits. To trust the rest of the crew. Aimee had called them his family. He hadn't wanted to agree at the time even to himself but after Kentucky, he had caught himself thinking about it. And then Sophie had….

Eliot started to roll onto his side with frustration but the pain in his ribs made him stop. At least he was getting paid. He would have to manage this carefully. His client had a reputation for cheating, and Eliot wasn't going to be fooled again. Thinking for a few minutes, he figured out a plan. It wasn't flashy like what Nate would have developed but it would work. Reaching out with his right arm, Eliot set the alarm and dropped into a deep sleep.

**

Picking up a chicken strip, Eliot kept a lookout for his contact. He had the man's photo sent by the client on his cell phone. Eliot kept looking out the window at the Lufthansa plane that was getting ready for the trip to Frankfurt. His interest was not so much in the plane but in the cargo pods now being loaded. He was glad he would not have to fly all the way to Germany to deliver the merchandise. A smile twisted his lips and he was unaware of the effect it had on the man sitting across the aisle. That man decided to find another table away from the crazy man with the bruised cheekbone and the sadistic smile.

Eliot looked around and spotted his man. His attention caught, the man sauntered over to Eliot's table. "You?" A nod and raised eyebrow was his only answer.

Speaking softly but with an undertone of menace, Eliot said, "Where's my money?"

The man brought out his phone, hit some keys, and declared, "Check."

With the confirmation of the money transfer, Eliot said, "You see that container there, the one labeled AKE 50567 LH Jettainer?"

The man peered out the window, found what Eliot had indicated, and turned back with a confused "Yeah?"

Eliot slid a paper across the table and smiled. It was not a nice smile. But he really didn't want to go to Germany right now.

"That's a claim ticket for a bag in that container. The bag has the necklace. You get the necklace when you get to Germany. And then I get the rest of my money." The glare from the ice blue eyes left nothing to the imagination about what Eliot Spencer would do if he was cheated. He _would _go to Germany.

The man gulped. He was just a go-between. He was not comfortable with his boss's business dealings and this one just felt….he searched for the right word…dangerous. This was a man who would not be crossed. This situation went against his orders though. The plan had been for him to get this…this thief on the plane and then Bruno, their employer's main enforcer, would take him out once they got to Germany. This thief had outsmarted them. A grudging respect rose in him as he nodded to the man and left to go to his gate.

Eliot was proud of himself. He would never have thought of that plan before he'd met Nate. He knew he'd stiffen up too much on an overseas flight to be able to put up much of a fight at the end of the journey. Oh, he was sure that an ambush had been planned. He would have been disappointed if it hadn't. This client had cheated others before. He must have thought he could cheat Eliot. His mistake.

Finishing dinner, Eliot reached down to grab his duffle and his vision went black around the edges. He bit his lip and waited. Sight returned but he knew he was pushing himself to his limit. His breathing was shallow and he felt a cold sweat break out all over. He leaned back in his chair to let the feeling pass. Using the table as a lever, Eliot eased to his feet, left the food court, and headed towards his own gate. He saw his contact at the Frankfurt gate on his left and ignored him. The first of several sliding walkways took him further from the man and towards the ground gate where his own flight was departing from. The waiting room was at the very end of the terminal; his plane, a Bombardier Q400, would take him to LA in few hours. Settling in a chair against the back wall in the corner, Eliot kept an unobtrusive eye out for anyone who might be looking for him. No one came.

Finally. Time to go. They tried to take his bag at the door to gate check it, but he just stared them down. Stammering, the steward said if he could find a place for it, then he could take it onboard. Smirking, Eliot boarded and found his seat in the back. The flight was not full and Eliot was able to get a row to himself after final headcount. Leaning against the bulkhead, Eliot watched the ground recede behind him. It looked to be a bad flight; dark clouds filled the air above, and this plane could not go above them. If there had been someone who followed him onboard, they would be stuck in their seats the entire flight.

The glass was cool against his forehead; he needed to stay awake a bit longer. He ordered coffee, black. Eliot slowly clenched and unclenched his left fist. The pain helped him focus. He noticed that he was breathing in shorter gasps and tried to take deeper breaths. It hurt. Man, he was a mess. And this from a simple B & E job. No military involved at all. He snorted. He'd been slacking off. He would need to fix that when he got back. He had gotten sloppy. Sloppy got you killed. Eliot was not ready to die. He leaned back into his seat and went into a state of rest. He wasn't asleep; his eyes weren't even closed. But he was not thinking or feeling or hurting right then.

**

Looking past the propeller, Eliot could see the city skyline. He was home. He'd told at least one person he could have L.A. and had meant it, then, but he just couldn't seem to stay away. He was always drawn back. It was dark when the plane touched down. The wind caused the plane to shift to the side causing some passengers to shriek. "Idiots," he muttered. Deplaning, he kept an eye out all around him for a tail but could spot no one. Retrieving his truck from long term parking, Eliot headed to his new apartment.

He'd had to give up his old apartment to get away from Sterling and wasn't really unpacked yet. Boxed were scattered everywhere. Dropping his duffle by the door, Eliot headed towards the bedroom's bath. The first thing he always unpacked was medical supplies, the second was the kitchen. Rummaging in the cabinet, Eliot found the suture kit and opened it up. Selecting a pre-threaded needle, Eliot braced himself for what he had to do. He had to rip off the tape without enlarging the gash in his arm. The wall had a hole in it when he was done. The sting of the needle was nothing to him, and the wound was sewn up fairly quickly.

Turning the water on as hot as he could stand, Eliot took a shower to try and clean the rest of the adrenaline out of his system. He needed to sleep and the water helped him relax. Towel drying his hair, he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to calm his mind. He'd been on the job, by himself, for over 50 hours and he needed that internal voice to _shut up_. He finally convinced it to let him alone for a while and fell back onto the bed and finally fell deeply asleep.

**

Hot. He was too hot. He knew he wasn't in the desert but his throat felt parched and his skin was tight. Opening his eyes to darkness was not what he'd expected. Eliot had expected to be blinded by the sun. Where….what? Rolling over, he got his answer. His arm flared with so much pain that he quickly rolled back onto his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The job…the fight…getting wounded. Something was wrong.

His eyes burning from the bright bathroom light, Eliot had to wait for them to adjust. Once his eyes cleared and he wiped the tears away, he looked down at his arm. The wound had swollen around the stitches and the edges were red. Clenching his fist, pain radiated up and down his left arm. He laughed without humor. His arm had gotten infected.

There would probably be another hole in the drywall soon but it couldn't wait. The stitches had to come out and the infection drained immediately. Holding a handtowel with his mouth, Eliot began cutting the stitches. As he expected, the release of pressure released the infection which the towel caught. After all the stitches had been removed, Eliot could clench his fist with a little less pain. He squatted to pull out the bigger med kit from under the sink. Opening it on the toilet seat, he pulled out an irrigation syringe and a bottle of saline water. Eliot straddled the edge of the tub, sat down, and began flushing out the wound. Finally, he was satisfied that he had cleaned it out. He re-sutured it closed. One final thing. Pulling out another syringe, Eliot gave himself a powerful antibiotic injection.

Parched, he staggered into the kitchen to get some juice. Holding the glass against his face, he tried to remember that this job had been his choice. That he had made the decision to break into the man's house. That he had been an idiot once again to trust people and, after losing that trust, take a job he normally would not have taken just to prove something to himself. He braced his arms on the kitchen bar and rested his head on his right hand. Six months. At this rate, he wasn't going to last two months. The question was, would he go back at the end of the six months? Was he willing to give the team a second chance? Or should he just stay away? Could he afford re-learning habits he might have to break to stay alive if they broke up again?

Finishing his juice, Eliot went back to the bedroom to try to sleep. He put his thoughts off until he was feeling better.

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_Please let me know what you thought of this story by reviewing. I love this show and hope I captured some of the flavor of it._


	2. Chapter 2

The Solo Job(s) Ch 2

_A/N: Leverage is owned by TNT, Dean Devlin, et al; I'm just writing in their world with their characters and gaining nothing but the fun of writing and some nice comments from readers. __Spoilers for Season One_

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"Hey, Billy! When did you get back into town?" A heavy hand clamped down onto Eliot's shoulder as an accompaniment to the words. Tossing soaked hair out of his eyes, Eliot turned his head to look at Tony's hand and then across at the burly fighter. Cocking an eyebrow and a shoulder, Eliot smoothly moved back and away unconsciously taking a fighting stance.

Tony held up both hands and laughed. "Easy sport! No harm, no foul. Glad you're back; I've been looking for a good bout for a while. Up for it?" Eyeing the younger man, Tony noticed that although his shirt was soaked, Billy did not even look winded. Shaking his head, he wished he had the stamina of youth.

Eliot had _not_ taken the man's arm off at the elbow which was his first instinct. Here, he was just a business consultant looking to find challenging sparring partners. Here, at Chuck's Gym, many practiced and competed in Mixed Martial Arts events. It was the perfect training ground for Eliot. No one here knew what he _really_ did, and it was better that way. For him and for them.

Eliot had been coming to this gym for several months; it was a good place to work out with no curious questions asked. He knew that several members routinely engaged in underground fight clubs. A few had invited him, but he'd declined. He had to stay off the radar and drawing attention to his fighting prowess was _not_ the way to do it. _Billy_ was how he was known here at the gym.

When they'd first gotten that big payoff from the Dubenich job, Eliot had used some of the money to get three new identities. The first was that of an air marshal. He would use it only when he needed a quick flight and paying with cash for a plane ticket would raise too many red flags. The second was that of William Ray. It was a limited persona that would withstand a cursory check. He used Billy for when he needed a light cover such as a gym membership. The third was John Langston. J.T. was who Eliot would become if he lived long enough to retire. Sophie had bought a retirement home or three with her money. Eliot didn't need a place; he needed a whole new identity. J.T. was built from the ground up and would withstand the deepest of background checks. For now, J.T. lived in a safe deposit box.

But right at _this_ moment, Eliot was Billy. He'd already spent time doing cardio and free weights. Nate's snarky comment about jumping rope still galled him a bit every time he picked up a rope. There had been an implied insult about being "just a thug" just as when Nate'd shown his surprise that Eliot could cook. It was hard work staying at the top of his game, and the others hadn't seemed to appreciate it or understand him. Not that he gave them many windows into his life often, but he'd let a few things slip. They knew about Aimee, he'd mentioned his religious nephew, and they knew of his passion for watching the Dallas Cowboys play football.

Shaking his head to dispel the unwanted memories, Eliot grinned at Tony and said, "Sure." He could use a good workout as well. Running himself into the ground would help him sleep tonight. He had an early start for a new job. His flight left at 1:15 a.m. for Ho Chi Minh City.

**

It was already noon by the time he got back to his apartment; luckily he'd showered at the gym. He still had boxes stacked around the perimeter of the main room. He hadn't yet decided on his course of action when the six months were up. Eliot was nothing if not stubborn, so he hadn't decided to give up on the crew they'd built but still…that niggling little thought in the back of his mind regarding trust made him uncertain of where he wanted to go. "Just one more job" had been his inner mantra regarding Nate and the others. They had all agreed after helping Corporal Perry to work "one, maybe two more jobs." They had worked more than just two jobs but that last one. . .that betrayal. Eliot stared off into the distant memory. But she was just one member of the team. There were the others too. He didn't have to decide right then, but no one chased Eliot Spencer away from anything. Not without a big fight at least. And maybe they could rebuild the team.

Going into the kitchen, Eliot rummaged in the freezer for ground beef. While it was thawing in the microwave, he went to his room. Strewn all over the bed was his gear. Grabbing a suitcase out of the closet, Eliot packed relatively light. Looking fondly at the ceramic knife he'd taken off of Dan Erlick, he decided not to risk taking it through customs. It would be easy to find a good knife in Ho Chi Minh anyways. Clothes, hat, gloves, maps, compass. Going over to the safe in the closet, Eliot pulled out the stack of passports. Which one? Reading through each one to make sure "he" had never been to Saigon, Eliot finally pulled one out of the stack. This persona had lots of U.S. mileage but not much overseas and definitely not outside of Europe. He should clear customs easily. Once all he needed was crammed into the bag, Eliot took it out and left it by the front door.

On autopilot, he began to make burritos, searing them in butter and frying them. He had pretty broad tastes, but you often never knew what you'd get to eat in Cambodia. He wanted a favorite meal to remember for a while. He really hated eating rat.

This latest job would take him back to South Viet Nam. He planned to cross the border into Cambodia along the Mekong River heading into Phnom Penh. He should only be gone about ten days if all went well. The flight itself would take almost 19 hours each way. Then there was the need to find transport, actually sneaking across the border before he could even reach the drop where he was to pick up the harddrive.

Sitting at the kitchen table, plate in hand, Eliot booted up his laptop. Hardison had tried to install programs on it but Eliot had resisted all but a spyware program. Eliot only used his computer for e-mail and, now that he knew what to do, the occasional Photoshop job. That skill could come in handy later on.

In his mailbox was a message from one of his regular "employers." It was the final details about this job. There was no way the team could have ever done a job like this one. Too dangerous. Military weaponry and supplies were vanishing from supply depots. This kind of theft had been going on for years but now a computer harddrive had been stolen from an office that contained sensitive material. It had ended up in Cambodia where it was being offered to the highest bidder. An undercover GAO agent had purchased it with the understanding that it would be picked up by a person. Eliot was that person. While the military had plenty of covert operatives, sometimes they used mercenaries when they were shorthanded and on the clock. Like now.

There was no guarantee that the drive hadn't been copied; Eliot now understood how easy that was. But, his contact had insisted, there was data not readily noticeable on the drive that required a cipher to even have it pop up as an option to open. Then there was another cipher needed to open the files. The encryption was very complicated. Eliot breezed out over the technical jargon and just focused on his mission. His drop point for delivering the drive had been changed. Now it was here in the U.S., so he would have to get it through customs as well. That changed things a bit. He glared at his computer screen.

Stuffing the last bite into his mouth, Eliot went back to his room and dug into his closet. Not there. Where? Closing his eyes, Eliot tried to remember the last time he'd seen…oh, yeah. Grabbing a knife, Eliot tore open one of his boxes labeled linens. Buried halfway down was a cheap laptop. He would be able to place the harddrive into the computer to get it here. Damn it! He needed a different passport. He needed someone who would be carrying something like this. Ah, of course, his corporate courier had the paperwork and clearances to carry sensitive materials over international lines. He switched out passports and added the laptop and case to his pile.

Cleaning up the kitchen took a short time; he watched the game as he washed up. Sitting on the couch with beer in hand, Eliot felt a bit…off. He wouldn't use the word lonely, not even to himself, but he felt more isolated than usual. His lifestyle did not foster friendships. He had no one to really talk to. Sure, there were casual acquaintances from bars and strip joints but no friends. No one to whom he could talk to.

He had never confided deeply personal thoughts to the others, but the time spent with them meant he wasn't stuck alone inside his head. He had a very good memory, and many things he remembered were not pleasant. At times, he wished one of his concussions would remove his memories for good. He was dark inside, and the team had shone a little light into his soul.

Luckily Dallas' game was done by 2:30 so he could wind down to get some rest before heading out to the airport. His room had light-blocking curtains and within fifteen minutes of lying down, Eliot was asleep.

**

The alarm brought him out of his traditional nightmare. Clutching the left side of his chest with one hand, Eliot forced his breathing to slow down. Heading into the bathroom, he turned on the water in the shower as hot as he could stand and stepped in. Standing with his arms braced against the wall, Eliot tried to remember his dream. He hadn't had that dream in months. In fact, the last time he'd had it had been before Dubenich had hired him. It was always the same. Always the night before a dangerous job but luckily never_ during_ a job. He never remembered any details but it always ended with an intense pain as his chest was ripped apart by a bullet as he jolted awake. The really bizarre aspect of it was that he always had the taste of raspberries at the same time. Where _that_ came from he had no clue. If he had needed a sign that things in his life were back to normal, this was it.

Getting dressed, he walked into the kitchen room to get the leftover burrito out of the fridge. His neighbors were at it again. He could hear them fighting, him screaming, her crying. If it wasn't that he was on his way out, he would go over there… Eliot snorted. _And do what_ he asked himself. He so wanted to take that guy down a notch. Someday, he promised himself as he grabbed his bags and headed out the door, he would deal with it.

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_Thanks for reading this chapter; I hope you liked it and if so, please let me know in a review. A big thank you to those who reviewed chapter one; I hope you like this one too. There will be a few more chapters since there is only a 3 month time span to cover. However, I'm working on a few stand-alones right now. _


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